


Just Shut Up, Already

by hazzahandsome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazzahandsome/pseuds/hazzahandsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry lands himself on Vocal Rest and Zayn is volunteered to keep him quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Shut Up, Already

"You’re not supposed to be talking, Harry," Zayn reminded him while continuing to go over the lyric sheets in front of him. “You _know_ that." Harry had been struggling with his current state for the majority of the week - he just wasn’t one to keep silent. 

Earlier within the week, all of the boys had woken up as usual, gone to the studio as usual, and started to work on a new song. What was out of the ordinary, however, was Harry discreetly standing off to the side, downing bottles of cough syrup and insisting he was fine whenever anybody asked him if something was wrong. 

His throat felt scratchy and dry like sand paper and rough, but he refused to complain, because he _loved_ to be in the booth and didn’t want his time to be pushed back - which would surely throw everything off schedule.

After careful and quick observation, Savan had decided that they should put off Harry’s vocals for awhile, instead shuffling Niall into the sound booth and ignoring Haz’s looks of protest. “It’s just for today," he had said. “Hopefully whatever’s going on with your throat will have cleared up by tomorrow, and you can hop in then."

It didn’t clear up.

In fact it got a lot worse. 

What had started out as as a slight disturbance to Harry, turned into pure torture. By the time they had arrived to the studio the next day, Harry was croaking like a frog - unintentional tears of pain springing to the corners of his eyes when he opened his mouth to try and describe how he was feeling with the new morning, after Zayn had questioned.

He hadn’t even gotten a strained syllable out before Savan made his way over with a pointed look and slapped a sign to his chest. _‘Vocal Rest’_.

He wasn’t doing a great job at this new assignment, because Harry was naturally a talker - even if he was a slow one. 

He had been placed on rest three days prior and still hadn’t improved too much - despite his constant intake of medicine, vegetable soup, and tea. His body, however, _had_ started to become a bit more used to the feeling. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, but he wasn’t crying. Which was considered an improvement within the group.

Louis sat on a stool in the booth laying down vocals - for the first time ever he was starting a song - and Harry wanted to discuss, along with the other boys,  how everything was coming together. " _hugh_ I think _hugh cahh cahh!_ With the _hugh_ drop in _ackkk cahh!_ " 

Zayn kept his head down on the sheet, but lifted his eyes to watch Harry attempt to get the sentence out - coughing and choking his way through. He took note that the deep, slow, _soothing_ voice that all of them were accustomed to had seemingly started to become gratingly _agitating_ \- to both them and probably Harry’s inflamed throat. His eyes as well, which usually sparked a vibrant jade green, seemed dull - the whites a soft red. 

He wished he could help.

"Haz! Yer got a white board fer a reason, mate. Write it down," Niall called from across the room. 

Harry’s hands travelled down to the ground where the white board Louis had earlier bought for him to use, sat leaning against the couch. Grabbing it and pulling it back up to his lap, he grasped the black marker that was attached with a purple string and started to write something down.

Zayn’s gaze drifted from Harry’s eyes to watch his hands move across the blank space - the strong grip on the marker pushing the veins on the back of his hands out to become more prominent against his fair skin. Zayn could tell from that alone that Harry was angry and frustrated, but there wasn’t much he could do and chose instead to tear his eyes away and focus back on the work at hand.

A few minutes later, from his peripheral vision, Zayn could see the board being raised towards their side of the room.

_‘This fucking sucks.’_

Zayn just gave him a small empathetic smile - they had all been in that same boat at one point or another - and looked back to his music sheet, crossing out a line he deemed stupid and too personal for him (it wasn’t _his_ song after all - it was _theirs_ ) and rewriting something that he better approved off.

Deeply engulfed in his task, Zayn was a little taken back and very much startled when a hand tapped his shoulder. “Holy shit!" he breathed, pulling the headphones that were playing the beat to the song he was writing to out of his ears and looked up. “You scared me a bit."

"Sorry about that, mate," Savan leaned back a bit and took a small glance over to Harry, who was currently trying to speak with Liam without speaking with Liam, but not succeeding. “Can I talk to you out in the hall for a second?"

Zayn’s hazel eyes left Savan and looked through the small glass window at Louis, who was still singing, “What about Lo-"

"Jennifer is going to take over for a little while," he interjected and pointed to Jen, a member of their team who was now sitting at the sound board in Savan’s seat. “So, come on then?" He made his way out of the door, expecting that Zayn was following along behind him, and started his way down the hallway.

Zayn jumped up off the couch - throwing his notes down as neatly as possible, and followed Savan out - finding him leaning against one of the walls. The air was humid with heat and confusion and Zayn felt almost as if he had to swim through it to get to the other man. “What’s going on?"

Savan looked up from his phone, which he had pulled out while waiting for Zayn. “Harry." Zayn stopped walking as he got closer and stared forward, puzzled.

"No, I’m Zayn," he ragged, “Getting a little old?" Savan’s eyes sparkled briefly, before pulling back. He was trying to be serious. Taking note of the time (it was going on nine - they were _way_ behind schedule), he thrusted his phone back into his pocket and brought his head back up to the right to Zayn.

"We’re almost done here for the night, and we need to get Harry into the booth soon," he sighed. “This is ridiculous."

Something flared within Zayn. Harry was one of his best friends, even _more_ so than the others. He knew he could talk about anything with any of the boys, but with Harry he felt he could talk about _everything_ and Harry was the one that he felt freest to get into trouble with. So, to see Savan - a friend - annoyed at the younger boy upset Zayn in a way he couldn’t describe.

"Hey," Zayn moved towards the wall opposite Savan and leaned onto it. He felt quiet, more so than usual, and tired. “It’s not _his_ fault he sounds like shit! He just caught something somehow." And it _was_ abnormal for Harry to lose his voice, because he took way more care than any of the other lads to stay healthy and ready.

Savan paused, a bit surprised at the sudden burst of attitude and defendance, “I’m not saying it’s _bad_ he got sick, Zayn. I’m just saying we’re falling too far behind on this track." He watched as Zayn adjusted the sleeves of the jacket he was wearing and brushed a piece of lint off his jeans. “His throat’s not doing well and, let’s face it, Harry’s not really _helping_ the situation."

"What do you want me to do about it exactly?" Zayn sighed. “He’s taking syrup, he’s eating soup and stuff. I mean, yeah, he _won’t shut up_ , but that’s just because this is _Harry_ we’re talking about." 

Savan was watching him closely. “Exactly. I want you to watch him for me. Take charge. Shut him up for awhile. I can’t keep control of the board _and_ check to see if Harry’s having a spasm at the same time. Just make sure if he starts talking to quiet him down - for his voice. " 

Zayn didn’t necessarily understand if Savan wanted him to watch Harry _all_ day and night, but he didn’t really feel like it if that was the case. Besides, he thought Perrie might go over to his house later after he got home from the studio. He groaned with displeasure - he really needed some _‘quality’_ time with her. “Zayn, don’t make that face. We need him back on the mic."

He hadn’t been aware that he was pulling any sort-of look, but immediately checked himself out of respect. He could hang out with Perrie another night. “Alright, fine."

~~~

He walked back into the studio a couple of minutes after Savan -  having  hung back to call Perrie and explain that they’d have to reschedule. She had lowered her voice and whispered things to remind him of what he was going to be missing out on and giggled when he groaned in response.

Harry was sunk into one of the couches, a grumpy face set in place, casually scratching lyrics (or knowing Harry, doodles) into a notebook. His normally wide smile was nowhere to be found, and Zayn found himself unsettled at the drastic change. Walking over and slapping lightly at his knee, Zayn looked down to Harry, “Hey, Haz. We’re having a sleepover, ‘cause Savan’s worried about you continuing to blow your chords. Okay?"

"I am _hugh cahh cuh!_ " he stopped and ripped the white board out from behind his back.

_‘I am not going to blow my vocal chords!!!!’_

Zayn eyes lit up at Harry’s childness - a trait not often seen, masked by a batch a maturity, then shook his head and went back to his chair to continue his work. He found the process of writing their own music extremely formidable and intimidating. There seemed to be an immense pressure placed upon his shoulders based on the position he felt others had placed him in. He was supposed to be _deep_ \- a person who tweeted and talked about living life to the fullest and ‘riding the roller coaster that is life’ - a term he had started to wish he had never put in his description box. 

He just wasn’t sure how much of himself he wanted to give to the fans, though. Too _impersonal_ would surely read a bad and inauthentic song. _Too personal_ and some people would use his information and honesty against him. That’s just how it worked - fans could be finicky.

He tried to focus on what he was doing, but something caught his eye and he began to struggle to refocus. Harry sat on the other side of the room, arm lifting up his shirt, scratching his stomach. 

Harry had a hard time keeping on his clothes.

It was by no means the first time Zayn had seen him getting a little disrobed - in fact he had seen him a lot more naked than he was currently - but he would often find himself having to _tear_ his gaze away. It made him uncomfortable.

Harry’s hands glided along his stomach for a few more seconds before placing his shirt back into place and trying to stifle a yawn.

Whatever was going on within Zayn’s mind had him on edge. Breathing in deep, he picked up his pen a continued his song.

~~~ 

“ _cahhh kuh_ I’ll be fine _cuhh hugh_ by tomorrow. _cahhhhhugh_ I swear," Harry swore while reaching down for his brown bag. 

They had finally wrapped for the night, leaving at eleven, and Harry had decided to make his way around the room to each person present and swear he would be getting better. Zayn thought it would of  been a better idea to not make such far fetched promises, but he sat back and let Harry do whatever he wanted.

Until he noticed that he was talking. “Har-reh!! Stop the chatter!" he called making his way through the studio door and down the hallway to the front door. 

Zayn had rode to the studio with Niall that morning, because his own car was in the shop, so when he pushed the door open - fans voices rising in greeting - he made his way to Harry’s Range Rover instead. He pulled the keys he had snatched from Harry out of his pocket, and unlocked the doors to throw his backpack into the back seat. When he noticed that Harry hadn’t immediately come behind him, Zayn decided to be a good boy band member and make his way over to the line of girls hoping to get pictures and autographs from them.

He was taking his fifteenth picture when Harry finally sauntered through the front door, next to Niall - who was telling him something which made Harry laugh and cripple over from the pain of it. Zayn rolled his eyes at Harry, waved to the girls he was currently standing with, and strode back over to the car. “You ready to go?" he asked opening the passenger seat door and making his way in. 

Harry started to open his mouth to respond, but Zayn fixed him with a stare. “You need to _caahhh_ lighten up." He placed his key into the ignition, started the car, and turned down the radio so that it only softly pumped through the speakers. They wouldn’t be able to hear it, though, until they drove further away from the studio, because of all of the screams. 

Zayn stared out of the window watching cars roll by - his eyes slightly drooping with sleep. He could feel his stomach rumble slightly, reminding him that they hadn’t gotten to eat dinner. “Do you want to stop and pick something up to eat?" he turned to Harry, who nodded at him.

He drove a couple minutes out of the way to stop at Joy King Lau, a Chinese take out restaurant that they went to a lot together. “Stay in the car, I’ll go get it," Zayn instructed, feeling a bit like his dad, jumped out of the car and ran over to the building.

Harry watched Zayn as he jogged towards the front door, somewhat admiring his forum, and frowned slightly.

He couldn’t stand being treated like a child. Did he have a childlike attitude at times? Yes. Did he need somebody to tuck him in and turn on a night light? Not really.

The only good side he could see in all of this, was that it was _Zayn_ who had been instructed to keep a watch on him. If he was going to be bossed around, he’d rather it be the tall, raven haired boy. In fact, he had had a few dreams of Zayn telling him what to do before - which was definitely not something he had ever shared with his friend.

Harry sank back into his seat, remembering the first night he had woken up from the middle of a _very interesting_ dream involving one of his best mates. He wasn’t surprised at a male being present in such fantasies, but he was surprised that it was Zayn who had made an appearance. 

Harry had always thought Zayn was an attractive guy and pretty early on into his friendship with the older boy he had started to develop a bit of a thing for him. He had worked hard to squash it, however, knowing the consequences of revealing such a…. _desire_. 

No more. Well, not _much_.

He looked up from the steering wheel as the passenger door opened and Zayn hopped in with three brown bags in hand. The regular. “Alright, let’s get out of here," Zayn breathed setting the bags on the floor by his feet and pulling his seat belt back on.

 Harry started the car back up and cleared his throat, “Okay."

"Stop talking, Hazza."

~~~

Empty cartons littered the dark wooden coffee table, both boys sprawled out against the couch under the same blanket. Close, but not touching. Zayn had a headache from trying to keep the younger boy in line and had started to think he shouldn’t of put on the television. “He’s not _hugh cah_ going to want _ca ca cugh_ to pick her after that," Harry grumbled as the current bachelor listened to one of the contestants bad mouth his best friend. " _hugh_ She’s doomed."

Zayn stared at Harry from under the blanket wrapped around him, and sighed with exasperation. He had taken _so many_ measures and tactics to execute Savan’s demands. For a brief while he sprayed him with a water bottle, like a cat scratching at the legs of a couch. When that stopped working, he had started to hit Harry with a pillow whenever he opened his mouth. All to no avail. 

It had started to seem as if Harry couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ stop.

Zayn found it baffling that he was even having this problem. Harry had been _miserable_ the entire week, not just from his throat, but also a sense of pointlessness. He seemed to feel (at least in Zayn’s eyes) like there was no point in even showing up at the studio if he didn’t get to go in the booth and sing. So, every time Harry started to talk about The Bachelor or the ‘fucking ridiculous cat food commercial, the one with the stupid pineapples’ Zayn just stared at him as if he had grown another head. 

Zayn’s train of thought strayed the second he felt Harry’s foot quickly and gently graze across his. 

He had sat in this same position with Harry countless other times, on countless other nights and yet he always found himself on edge. Calm, because it was a familiar position, but nervous for a lot reasons he didn’t understand. 

Zayn glanced down to the coffee table and saw that his beer was down to the nasty bit at the end and Harry, who was also drinking a beer despite Zayn’s protest that it probably wouldn’t help his throat any, was running low as well. “Another, mate?" he asked desperate to get away from the sofa. 

Harry kept his eyes on the television, eyebrows scrunched up at ‘the annoying slag’ getting an early rose. “Yeah," he coughed. Zayn cleared his throat at Harry’s speaking and made his way over to his kitchen. He could still see the mop off soft curly hair over the top of the sofa while he reached into the fridge and grabbed two more beers - before Harry seemed to fall over to lie down the length of the couch.

_‘What is your problem man? Think. Think. Keep him quiet. Shut him up.’_

When he got back into the living room, Zayn placed both bottles down onto the table and lifted Harry’s head up so that he could get back into his spot. With Harry’s head rested in his lap, Zayn felt his chest constrict and fought to breathe evenly. 

He looked down to Harry and smiled. His hands came up to play at his hair - which Harry happily leaned into with his eyes closed…. like a cat. He still wasn’t sure what it was about Harry that had been making him feel….. like he was feeling.

Harry was the opposite, he knew exactly what it was about Zayn that he liked. Sighing contently, he settled himself further into the older boy and started, " _cahh_ You know -" 

Zayn didn’t know why he did it, he had _no_ idea. He didn’t like Harry in that way he was sure, but there he was with his head ducked down his lips feathering across Harry’s unsuspecting ones.

The kiss was short and he pulled up almost immediately, his eyes rolling back up towards the television screen with a severe focus.

Harry laid still with his eyes remained on Zayn’s face, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Being able to kiss Zayn was something that he thought about, but never in his life thought would happen. Sooner rather than later, seeing as Zayn had gone silent - almost as if it had never happened, Harry returned his attention back to the screen, as well. 

Half an hour later Harry felt a light buzz and a tone of familiarity set over the room. He was elated that Zayn had allowed him to put on The Bachelor, a show he unashamedly enjoyed, but knew Zayn did not.

“ _He’s special and smart and funny. We just laugh so hard when we’re  together. I come home and my cheeks hurt, he’s so funny so and smart. I  love him. I just love him. I just think he’s the best_ ," a contestant gushed to the bachelor’s sister. 

Harry wasn’t sure if he believed some of these girls, sometimes. He felt that it was possible to fall in love at a rapid pace, but something about the cameras and the fact that barely any couple lasted after the show had him wary. “I just _cahh_ don’t get -"

He was once again silenced by Zayn’s mouth to his - just as soft, but briefly longer than the first. Just briefly. Harry had yet to register what was happening, once again, by the time Zayn was pulling away. His slender fingers continued to comb through Harry’s curls, seemingly coming down from whatever was bothering him, and instead a look of determination settled in it’s place.

Harry struggled to to turn away once more and when he did he saw that the show was coming to a close. ‘ _What are you doing, Zayn?’_  Harry thought pulling himself up, his back muscles ached and his legs felt sore. He could feel the couch shift next to him as Zayn pulled his arms up over his head and stretched. Looking around at the ground, Harry searched for his white board giving in once, and when he found it he hurriedly wrote out a sentence.

_"I think I’m going to take a shower, now."_

Zayn read it over and immediately started nodding his head. “Of course, mate. You know where it is." Harry jumped from the couch and made his way up the stairs that led to Zayn’s bedroom and the main bathroom. There was one downstairs as well, but it didn’t have a shower. Walking in and shutting the door, Harry pulled his shirt up over his head and aimlessly tossed it to the floor. He reached past the frosted glass door to the nozzles and pulled both temperatures on.

His own reflection in the mirror caught his attention and Harry founding himself staring down his own green eyes. He didn’t know what Zayn was playing at, but he was intrigued and had a strong urge to push the limits. See how far - and for whatever reason - he would go to accomplish whatever it was he wanted to accomplish. Pushing the thoughts away he hoped into the shower.

~~~

The first kiss had startled Zayn just as much as he was sure it startled Harry. It was rash and impulsive. Two qualities he didn’t really believe he possessed. And when he realised that the feeling of Harry’s lips - Harry’s soft pink lips that he would often find himself staring at during concerts as they hovered above a microphone emitting a practised hoarse tone that made girls swoon - gliding over his own, even for that brief moment, felt welcomed and befitting, he panicked.

Then, while _suffering_ through a second episode of The Bachelor, another idea struck him.

The moment Harry’s mouth opened for a second time to spout out some ridiculous notion that only Harry himself would ever be able to understand, Zayn decided to lower his lips to Harry’s once more. This time he was expecting the contact, and therefore could really focus on  the natural lure and seduction Harry seemed to possess. The second kiss was just as brief as the first, but Harry’s following stunned stillness (and the fact that he didn’t instantaneously bolt from his lap) gave Zayn all he needed to know.

Harry needed his voice back, and Zayn was supposed to be the one to do it.

~~~

Zayn laid sprawled out on top of his comforter, the TV (which was mounted on the wall at the base of the bed) was on and having a nineties show marathon -  the Johnny Bravo theme song playing softly. The time was going on two in the morning so, he had already changed into a pair of loose fitting pajama pants, no shirt, for bed. He liked to shower in the morning. _"Hey, huh. Do the monkey with me,"_ he quietly sang along.

While Harry was in the shower, Zayn had concluded that nothing mattered - not his feelings (whatever they may or may not be), not the consequences of what a few kisses would do to their friendship (actually that mattered _a lot_ , he just wouldn’t to admit it to himself). The only things that did matter at that point in time was that the album was falling behind schedule due to Harry’s lost voice and Savan’s flooding of his inbox with reminders to keep a watch out.

The door gave out a long creak and emitted Harry’s tall silhouette to creep across the floor. Zayn turned his head from the screen towards Harry, and tried to subtly take in the sight. 

He made his way into the room, a towel lowly hung off his hips, hair dripping to his shoulders, and making slight wet footprints into the tan carpet. “You better dry off before you get into this bed," Zayn threatened, assuming Harry would exercise his normal routine of sleeping in the buff. He could vaguely see Harry’s signature cheeky smirk from beneath the towel that was being run back and forth over his hair drying it as best he could and then tossing it into the hamper next to Zayn’s dresser.

His insides fluttered slightly at the show of joy, an emotion from Harry that had been all but absent the entire week.

Harry had been full on naked in front of all of the boys on far more that one occasion, so as he pulled the towel away from his body, he didn’t even bat an eyelash as he started to rub down his arms and legs - soaking up all of the water that had decided to make its’ way from the bathroom with him.

In his current state of mind, Zayn found Harry’s indecent exposure more cumbersome than he normally would so, he turned away and focused back towards the television - careful not to look back at the other boy who was currently walking around to the other side of the bed frame. The mattress dipped to his left, causing Zayn to sink down a little.

Harry pulled the comforter up over his legs and sighed. “You could wear something of mine you know," Zayn glanced towards his friend. “You don’t _have_ to be naked." Their eyes connected briefly and Harry swiftly decided to use that jest as his opportunity to test the theory he had been concocting.

“ _cahhh_ I like being," he began before Zayn lowered himself over Harry’s lips once more, this time longer than the others and Zayn gave a slight nip to his bottom lip before pulling away. 

Harry watched as Zayn’s tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips and was sure he was right. Zayn had been put in charge of keeping him quiet, and nothing - leading up to their first embrace downstairs - had been working. It was a kiss system. Harry spoke when he wasn’t supposed to and Zayn did what it took to stun him into silence. " _au naturel_."

The smile that had been absent for most of the week returned to Harry’s face, dimples prominent. Zayn wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and pulled Harry into him. This kiss was harder than all of the others, as if he was trying to nail in his point. “You," he breathed before running his plump lips over Harry’s pink ones again. “Need to stop talking."

Zayn was once again struck by a feeling of elation and (something he was sure he _should not_ feel) ecstasy as Harry pushed up on his elbows to lay further into him. He attempted to shove away thoughts of what his _initial_ plans for that night were as Harry’s tongue slid across his bottom lip. He could almost feel the younger boy smirking against him, before he started to detach himself.

Zayn watched as Harry sunk down into the pillows, his arms behind his head to keep his damp hair from getting anything wet. He was smiling… and coughing. But, mostly smiling. “I had a dream about this once," he uttered more to himself than to the other boy.

"What?" Zayn moved further away from Harry, the reality of the last embrace entering his mind. Harry responded much in the way he would expect Perrie to, or much in the way Harry would expect one of his many relationships to. His response didn’t read _‘I know what you’re doing’_ it read _‘I know what you’re doing, and I like it’._

“ _cahh_ I had a dream about this once. _cahhh cahh cuh_ Actually, more than once. It usually would start out a few kisses here and _cahh_ there, but then _cuhh ack_ eventually move on to bigger," he paused - his eyes tantalizingly trailing down Zayn’s torso to his crotch (which appeared just a smidge more alive than it had started), “and better things _cahhu_. I always enjoyed it… The dreams I mean."

Harry’s voice rang deeper than usual from the pain and huskier from the memory.

"It’s interesting, though, because when they were _cahh cahh_ going on all I thought was _cuhhh_ , ‘How can I get this to happen?’. _cahhh cahhh_ Turns out, I just needed to speak."

Lifting himself up, Zayn made his way over to the left side of the bed, where Harry sat with a smirk secured slyly on his face. Raising his arms, he weaved his fingers through Harry’s curly dark mane and gently tugged him forward, jade eyes met hazel, “Just _shut up_ already."

They connected again, this time some sort-of mutual understanding or knowledge placed between them. It was different than the others. Harry had liked Zayn, he had wanted to be with him and struggled with that on his own. Zayn cared about Harry, though he wasn’t sure to what degree.

The first moment in which their tongues slid against the other, Zayn’s grip tightened and sank them down towards the bed, his body resting over Harry’s - who’s hips rocked against his - a very noticeable bulge brushing against Zayn’s. Their breathing quickened as Harry began to tug Zayn’s sweats down.

~~~~

Niall sat on the studio floor, more comfortable there for some reason, strumming at the strings of his guitar with Louis, when the door pushed open. “Morning guys!" he heard Harry call before he could even see him. 

"Hey der, Hazza! Feeling better?" he questioned Harry, who’s famous smile was back in place and eyes cleared up some.

"Yeah, Nialler I’m feeling much better. Thanks man," Harry hummed and placed his bag down at the couch. “Not _perfect_ , but better."

Savan looked over, relief flooding his face, “We’ll start you first, eh?" Harry nodded eagerly in response.

Niall set his guitar to the side, and pulled himself up off the ground to walk over and grab his notepad off the table. “I was think’n ‘bout a change to da second verse, and I wanted yer to check it out," he tossed the book into Harry’s lap.

"Of course, yeah," Harry opened to the right page and patted Niall to the couch to go over it with him. Only a couple seconds later the door started to push open again and Zayn’s raven quiff appeared proceeded by the rest of his body. He made his way inside and placed his bag to the floor and set a mug of tea down on the table.

"Oi! Zayn, where have you been?" Liam swirled in circles in one of the soundboard chairs despite Savan’s looks of protest. “How are you?"

Clearing his throat and taking a sip of his tea, Zayn shrugged off his coat - wet from the slight drizzle outside - and hung it over the back of a chair. Harry’s took his gaze off of the words in front of him to watch Zayn’s response, a smirk and laugh slowly seeping onto his face at Zayn’s grimace of displeasure.

"Yeah, _cahh cuuhhh_ I’m totally fine _ahh_."


	2. Do I Just Pretend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn struggles with his night with Harry, unsure of what it means about himself.

He refused to say it. He _refused_ to say it. He….couldn’t say it, primarily _out loud_. 

Zayn’s throat hurt worse than he had ever managed with previously - and he had been _sick_ before, especially because of his lack of focus on keeping himself well. He couldn’t speak, and didn’t really dare to, in hopes that the infection would clear up as quickly as possible. They had work to do. Just breathing in inflamed the disease, causing a burn like sensation to spread down his esophagus. He found himself wondering if it was how Harry had been feeling when _he_ was indisposed. He thought not, however, otherwise the younger boy would of complained _far worse_ than he had at the time.

Harry did not do sick well.

Zayn wasn’t pleased. His current state felt like a rotten reward for taking time out of _his_ life to take care of his ‘ _dying_ ’ friend and watch The Bachelor, as if it was a _normal_ thing for two eighteen year old boys to be doing. But Harry had wanted it, and he was the one who wasn’t feeling well at the time.

Of course, the whole experience hadn’t been all bad. _‘Or had it?’_  

Nobody was taking care of Zayn - he didn’t need it. Zayn knew he needed to stay as silent as possible, as to not provoke the ache that simmered at all times. He knew to drink his tea, take his medicine, and go to bed early to rest up. All to get better. 

Only a few days ago everybody was annoyed with Harry for unintentionally pushing the recording schedule back. Now they were angry at _him_ \- not sure how it was possible that he had allowed himself to get sick, as well, when he knew what a time crunch they were on. As if he could help himself getting sick. Every time the topic was brought up as Zayn sat on the studio couch by himself, silently writing to the music flowing through his headset, Harry would laugh like a hyena and tease him mercilessly. “Come on, guys. It’s not Zaynie’s fault that he can’t keep himself healthy," Harry laughed until Zayn glared over at him.

_‘This isn’t funny.’_ He wrote simply on the white board Harry had _graciously_ let him borrow. Wrapped in a red bow, at that. _‘The cheeky **bastard**.’_

He was annoyed with _himself_ , that he had allowed anything to occur that could be taken the wrong way. Did he love Harry? Yes - that wasn’t even a question. The boys of One Direction meant more to him than he could accurately describe. Zayn, however, wasn’t one to spout his feelings like a rapid waterfall. He’d leave that to Niall, who was _more_ than capable of throwing his arms around and reminding all of them how much he cared. How much they mattered. 

Did he like Harry in a manner that was…. irregular?

He _must_ of, at least in some distinct way that didn’t apply to the others, obtained _some_ sort-of preoccupation with his younger friend. Zayn didn’t tend to look at Niall and admire the way his blonde locks sprouted out on top of his head, but he _had_ on more than one occasion over the course of their friendship been unable to suppress the itch to sweep his fingers through Harry’s fringe.

He didn’t _often_ haul Liam down to his lap when space throughout an interview was sparse. He just let everybody organize themselves to the best of their abilities. He found no embarrassment, though, settling Harry in the same spot. Usually wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist to secure his placement and petting him in the way Harry liked, he saw nothing wrong with that. He wasn’t uncomfortable doing so with any of his friends, but Harry had always felt _different_.

He was fine when Louis pulled him in for a hug or a _unexpected_ snuggle. **_In other words_** , Zayn wasn’t necessarily unsettled when Louis _jumped_ on him in the middle of a power nap in between responsibilities - sloppily planting a friendly kiss upon his cheek. Zayn somewhat cherished the moments when Harry knocked on his hotel door, advising him to awaken as quickly as possible, before Paul came after him too. He would slip inside after being evaded, as he _always_ was - Zayn was _not_ one to wake up on time - and slide under the comforter, resting his head on a bony shoulder. His curls brushing softly across Zayn’s cheek.

It never at any point occurred to him that not finding the interaction unpleasant had been of any significance. But, perhaps it had been. 

~~~

Due to pre-scheduled circumstances, all of them had taken a break from recording (none of them had ever seen Savan more agitated than he was during their last hour in the studio) and made the trip from London to New York a few days prior, for their Madison Square Garden performance. Upon arrival, they checked in at the hotel and were told of their scheduled interviews - there were _always_ interviews. Zayn was just about to begin to prepare for the day when Paul’s voice cut through the ruckus everyone was making, “Except you, Zayn! The highers have decided that it’d be best you stay on rest at the hotel."

So he had spent the first few days by himself asleep in a bed he wasn’t familiar with and watching reruns of Family Guy on the hotel television.

His throat still hurt before and after he went to bed, but he was making the most of it and slowly improving - which was ideal because the show was the next day. 

~~~

Harry hadn’t spoken to him for more than a couple of minutes at a time, since the night Zayn had been forced to watch over him. And never ** _alone_**. Although, that wasn’t upon Harry’s wishes - he had tried quite persistently to communicate with his older friend. Zayn was the one who hadn’t and wouldn’t let him - keeping Harry away as best he could. The whole situation had him scrunching up his nose with uncertainty, apprehension. _‘Do I just pretend?’_ he had thought discreetly to himself every time Harry was in the room, embarrassment seeping over him like honey. _‘Is it wrong….. that I don’t know what to do?’_

Zayn had started to worry pretty early on that his indecisiveness and bewilderment over the situation would effect his friendship with Harry. Because, they _are_ friends - great ones at that. He knew for a fact, that he would never sit through two or more episodes of The Bachelor with anybody else who asked. He knew that if he ever needed to get out of his flat and do something with actual human beings that Harry’s was the one to go to - and he _never_ made fun of Zayn’s introverted ways - unlike a few other friends that would remain nameless. But was all of that in jeopardy as a result of the circumstances?

They had had **_sex_**. Not all of the way, he supposed (not very up to date on all of the activities that counted in _heavy petting_ with the same sex), but enough to count.

He had a girlfriend. _‘Perrie…. Oh my god.’_

He couldn’t think about it. He _wouldn’t_. It confused him.

Zayn exited the bathroom, having just brushed his teeth and taking more cough syrup, turned off the lamp that had been casting a yellow glow across the papered walls, pulled the curtains almost all the way closed - open enough to let some of the moon shine through, but closed enough so that a _clever_ girl with a camera couldn’t figure a way to get a snapshot of his room - and pulled the covers back to climb into the bed.

He coughed a few times and reached his arm up under his head to pull the pillows closer, and rested down deeper. Closing his eyes, Zayn promptly escaped into sleep.

Only a handful of minutes later, he was sure, there was a soft rapping at his door. Forcing his eyes open as best he could, still heavy from sleep, Zayn looked up to the alarm clock that showed he had been asleep nearly four hours. “It’s three in the morning," he murmured grumpily to himself - mashing his face further into his pillow. “Go the fuck away."

He let his eyes fall shut once more, hoping his visitor would take the hint and leave him alone. After all, he was supposed to be resting. He tugged at the blankets, pulling them up to his face to try and block out the world. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything. He should of been alarmed, but the soft click of the door’s latch opening indicated that it was more than likely one of the other boys. They all had a copy of eachother’s hotel cards. His intruder softly pushed the door closed, hoping to make as little noise as possible. “Niall _cahh cuh_ if you’re about to ask me to get on your twitcam, you can fuck off," he mumbled.

The shuffling of their two feet across the carpet reached his ears, but he still didn’t move. When the person stopped moving at the edge of the bed, Zayn waited for them to speak. When they didn’t, he settled deeper into the mattress and started his quest for more sleep. The left side of the mattress dipped in as they crawled into the bed. 

Zayn rolled over onto his back and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. The moon pushed through the blinds casting three white streaks to dance across the popcorn surface. “What do you want, Harry?" he asked, his left hand running across the fabric resting across his stomach. A past time of his. Harry leaned further onto the bed, resting his head in the crook of Zayn’s shoulder like usual. 

"Nothing," he exhaled, bringing his hand up to rest under his chin - fingers grazing across his tattooed skin. “Zap. Zap."

"….Zap."

They both laid in silence for awhile, the rhythmic sound of their mixed breathing keeping them both calm, but attentive. Harry’s warm breathe skirted over Zayn’s collarbone, once again reminding the older boy of their night together earlier in the week. Images of Harry’s lips gliding across his skin, kissing, licking, nipping, flashed through his mind and Zayn could feel the heat of the experience rise to his cheeks.

He felt comfortable around Harry even when he was uncomfortable. _‘That **means** something, right?’_

Harry snuggled further into the older boy and kicked his feet under the blanket. He blindly reached down, fingers grasping in thin air until he made contact with the material and tucked it around his shoulders. “Night, Zayn."

"Goodnight, Harry."

~~~

Harry laid curled up under the blankets. His mop of curly brown hair sprawled out on top of the pillow, framing his head, in the way it always did in the morning. Zayn had just walked back into the room with a cart from the dining room downstairs and had paused in his actions to observe the boy.

He _knew_ he needed to talk to Harry - that he was acting childish. Harry was naturally an emotional person. He wore his heart on his sleeve. The fact that he showed up to Zayn’s room in the middle of the night and _didn’t_ try to to speak to him about anything, suggested to Zayn that he was at his breaking point.

Soon, he would begin to sulk, shut down, and _worst of all, **cry**_. Zayn didn’t want that. They were both eighteen. Young. It wasn’t their time to be so distraught over their relationships.

He pushed the cart further into the room, settling it by the small table by the window. He started pulling all of the items off and placing them down - and poured the tea and orange juice. The smell of bacon had Harry rousing and stretching across the bed like a feline. “Bacon?" he yawned. “I like bacon."

He pushed aside the comforter and flung his legs over the bed. Harry had had the sense to pull on a pair of his black Calvin pants before making the journey from his room to Zayn’s, but the rest of him was bare. “Oh, sorry Haz. _cah_ I didn’t get anything for you."

"Very funny, Zayn," he plopped down in one of the chairs and plucked a piece of  bacon of the platter. " _Very_ funny."

"I wasn’t……….." Zayn stopped short, unsure of how to begin, even though he had spent the majority of the night playing with Hazza’s fringe and planning out the conversation in his mind. “I wasn’t trying to pretend…. that nothing happened." He stopped there. _‘Test the waters first.’_ Harry’s eyes stayed fixed on Zayn’s face as he grabbed a second, crunchier piece of bacon and brought it to his mouth. He bit into it and chewed slowly.

"You have a girlfriend."

"…Yes?"

Harry’s eyes danced and eyebrow quirked at the question mark at the end of the word, “Are you not sure?"

"What?"

“ _Listen_ Zayn," he pushed back in his chair. “I wasn’t sitting around thinking, ‘He’s totally breaking up with Perrie now!’ I was just…." he trailed off, his voice wavering slightly. In an attempt to push back the wave of emotion that was rapidly approaching, he took a gulp of orange juice and made a start on the scrambled eggs. When the first notice of a tear struck the corner of his eye, Harry dropped his fork, lowered his head, and ran his hands back and forth through his hair.

_**Thump Thump Thump** “Make sure your up, Zayn! We’re busy today!!" _ Paul knocked. **_Thump Thump Thump_**

Harry stood up out of the chair and started to make his way to the door. He needed to get out of the room, and was seriously regretting showing up at all. “Harry?" He gripped the handle and gave a tug, the door cracking open. 

"Listen, Haz!" Zayn jumped up after him. “I. I just. I….. _Ugh_!" Harry pulled the door further open and started to step out. Zayn gripped at his shoulders and pulled him back inside, his left hand shoving the door back closed and his right hand holding Harry in place. He tried to pull Harry’s head in his direction, but green eyes remained focused on the ground, not yet ready to deal with Zayn’s impending rejection. 

He wasn’t sure _what_ he wanted. It had been such a long time since he would look at Zayn and his heart would flutter. It took him longer and more effort than he would care to admit, to rid his hazel eyes and nimble fingers from his dreams. He had worked _intolerably_ hard to no longer wonder what it would be like to have Zayn’s lips feather across his skin. 

And all of a sudden, _two_   _years_ of work was washed away in one afternoon. He _knew_ now, what it felt like to kiss him, to have their tongues run gently across each other’s - and then not so gently. He had experienced Zayn’s hazel eyes darkening with desire for _him_. He had seen Zayn’s eyes squeeze shut from the pleasure _he_ gave him. He had felt rough callousness of Zayn’s fingers glide down his stomach, fingers dipping into the crevices of his abs, before wrapping roughly around him.

Now he was screwed. 

"Before you go get ready," Zayn spoke in hushed tones. “I just want you to know something." His eyes found Harry’s jade ones and locked on, daring him to try and look away. He had to say what had been stewing withing his mind throughout the week. He had to get something _anything_ out, before he went insane from worry. “I’ve been feeling a little…. unsure. Do you know what I mean? Confused. I have a girlfriend. _Perrie_. Perrie is my girlfriend. I love her very much." Harry willed his eyes to look away, but they didn’t budge. He didn’t feel like crying, so he begged the tears to stop building up behind his eyelashes. “What happened between us," Harry did look away then. This was the moment he had been dreading - the moment he had been _trying_ to have it all week, so that they could _move forward_ and focus on their work. “What happened with us, was _intense_ …. and unexpected. On _my_ part, at least."

Their eyes re-connected, and Zayn loosened his grip slightly, no longer nervous that Harry would bolt. 

"I enjoyed it, Harry. A lot," his own eyes trailed away, unsure of where to look that wouldn’t be embarrassing. “And that scared me."

_**Thump Thump Thump** “Do you have Harry with you, Zayn?! He’s not in his room or any of the other guy’s!"_ Paul called. Harry reached his arm back and wrapped his hand around the handle. Pushing himself of the surface of the door, he pulled it open and stepped out into the hallway.

"Yeah, I’m here Paul. Was just asking Zayn about something," he spoke looking back to the room where Zayn leant against the door frame. “I’m getting ready now."

"Alright, hurry," Paul instructed. “You too, Zayn. We don’t have the time today to procrastinate."

Zayn pulled himself up, “We’re going. We’re going." Harry gave him one last look, a question sitting in the windowsills of his eyes, and turned down the hallway. Zayn shut his door.

~~~

"That was sick!" Louis cascaded down the stairway leading to the stage. “You guys! That was _amazing_!"

Zayn strolled next to Louis, but soon started to fall behind the hyper lad - settling in next to Niall. He carefully collected everyone’s microphones and set them into their designated box by the rest of the equipment.

"Did ya see da crowd!?" Niall added pulling his guitar strap off of his shoulder at a similar speed, and carefully handing it to the roadie on his right. “Did ya hear dem?! Incredible!" Harry bounded after Liam, who was high-fiving everyone he passed. 

"Everyone did great," he added at a much lower register than the others, making sure everyone knew how important they were. Harry smiled at Liam’s spirit. _‘Always the gentlemen.’_ He started to tug at his bow tie, undoing the knot and pulling at the strings. He made quick work of the top buttons that dug uncomfortably into his throat. “And Harry and Zayn! Both cleared up and sounding as fantastic as ever."

Harry grinned at Liam’s kind words, “You sounded great too, Liam." Which earned himself a high five and a clap on the back. 

"Thanks mate."

All five boys followed the path down the hallway towards the dressing rooms. Zayn looked behind him at Liam and Harry, who were a ways behind the others. Harry was carefully undoing to buttons of his crisp white dress shirt (slightly damp with sweat as was everyone else’s), so that only the final three remained intact. The sliver of tanned skin once again called to Zayn in a way he knew wasn’t the normal reaction that he should have. Brushing his hair back off of his forehead, he had chosen to wear it down for the show that night, he felt a small layer of perspiration, that hadn’t come from the performance, had taken residency.

He slowed his steps to fall behind Niall, eventually coming back against his other friends. “Hey Liam, great job tonight. You _destroyed_ your ‘Moments’ solo."

Liam threw a casual arm around his shoulder and gave a soft squeeze. “Thank you, Zayn. A couple of _your_ bits had some young ladies crying." 

"Well, I don’t know about that."

"Liam! Did ya want ta grab da bags wit me?!" Niall called back from ahead. Liam dropped his arm from Zayn’s shoulders and hurried over to Niall who had already went to grab a couple. 

Their strut continued at the same leisurely pace, neither Harry nor Zayn saying anything - instead choosing to wordlessly make their way to the dressing room. “Great show guys," a few members of the crew called at them on their way. Harry ran a hand over his forehead, swiping away the sweat and brushing his hair up as best he could. “I wish I had a headband on me," he commentated mostly to himself. Zayn took the opportunity to glance to his right. Harry’s chest shone slick with perspiration - a sight that should of put him off, but instead looked….  ** _inviting_**. 

As they began to pass one of the many empty dressing rooms the arena provided, Zayn made another rash decision. Stopping short, he brought up both of his hands and gently shoved Harry into the spare room. “Zayn, what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?!" Harry yelped in surprise as Zayn closed the door behind them, and pushed Harry against it.

"Shhhhh," Zayn placed his palms on either side of Harry’s neck, stood up on his toes, and leaned his head up to glide his lips over Harry’s for the second time that week. The same high he had experienced the first time he had done this spread out throughout his body for the second time. Harry, quickly shoved away his bewilderment and tilted his head down to further accept Zayn’s kiss. 

He wanted this. He loved this. It felt _right_. He pulled away for a small second. “I’m not sick anymore, Zayn. You don’t need to keep me quiet."  He planted a sweet kiss on the corner of Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn tugged at Harry’s neck, bringing him closer. “Shhhhhhh." Their lips re-attached, and Harry slid his tongue along Zayn’s bottom lip asking for entrance, which he was immediately admitted. They let out a mutual sigh at the contact that had been deprived of them.

Harry was taller than Zayn, but for some reason he liked not being the one hunching down into this kiss as he normally would with somebody else. Harry’s quivering within his arms, however, still had him under the impression that he was the ‘superior’ in these activities. Even though it seemed _Harry_ knew more about how to handle it than he did - Zayn was steering the ship.

He let go of Harry’s face to bring his hands down and brush his tuxedo jacket off of Harry’s shoulders, letting it fall into a puddle on the ground. When Harry started to bite at his bottom lip, Zayn groaned and blindly pulled at the last few buttons of his shirt, shoving that off as well. Harry unattached his mouth from Zayn’s and brought his hands to his waist, where he tugged the edge of his shirt out of the waist of his black pants and pulled it over his head. 

Zayn’s hair stuck up in multiple directions from the action, the blonde highlights standing out against the dark room. “I really like those," he mumbled incoherently against Zayn’s ear, his hot breathe igniting a shiver. Zayn wasn’t sure to what Harry was referring, but his heart warmed at the compliment. He _almost died_ the second Harry’s teeth grazed across his earlobe, biting gently. 

Zayn willed himself to focus on the situation at hand, his mind centering on collarbones. He had always….. admired Harry’s _collarbones_. Tantalizingly he ran the tip of his tongue over Harry’s right collarbone. Over only freshly tattooed music notes - the first eight bars of ‘Torn’, the start of a sleeve Zayn was anxiously waiting to see the end result of. Harry shuddered at the action and let out a shaky breath as he grabbed hold of Zayn’s belt and pulled the notches loose. He helped the falling trousers down and kicked them off the rest of the way, stumbling briefly at the feet - his hand brushing against Zayn’s member which twitched in anticipation.

He in turn, went to remove Harry’s for him. The second his trousers hit the floor, Harry halted the movements he had been making against Zayn’s jawline and their eyes scanned each other’s. Nothing but their erratic breathing could be heard as their individual fingers locked into the waistband of eachother’s pants….. and tugged down. Zayn tilted his head up once more and feathered his lips across Harry’s plump pink ones in a short mellow kiss - and then sank to his knees.

~~~

"Hahahahahahah! Ya can’t say tings like dat out loud Louis! Hahahahahaha," Niall fell over onto himself. Liam looked appalled and hurriedly went back to pulling his fresh clothes on.

"I’m just saying," Louis continued to run the towel through his showered hair. “It was a bit of a peasant move on her part!" He threw the damp towel into the hamper along with the others and went back over to the rack to grab his shoes. 

Zayn pushed the dressing room door open, dress clothes in hand and a towel wrapped around his waist. “Where have you two been? We’ve been meant to leave head back to the hotel in only a couple of minutes," Paul pounced pulling the clothes out of Zayn’s hands and Harry’s as well once he made his way through the door. 

"You know Louis can be a right diva," Zayn muttered with a smirk. “Taking up all the time in the shower."

"We just went and found other ones, is all Paul," Harry interjected - already grabbing a pair of shorts and a tank top off the rack and pulling them on. “Where’s the bag with everything, Niall?"

He received a point in answer, “Der all under dat counter over der," Niall spoke as Harry pulled the bag out and searched for the deodorant with his name labeled on it. They weren’t _barbarians_. When Harry straightened up, his eyes caught Zayn pulling a ratted t-shirt over his head and noticed a small bruise forming at the base of his neck. He smirked.

All of them made sure they were dressed appropriately enough to be photographed, before the roadies came into the room to collect everything that needed to be shipped back to London. “We’re heading from here _straight_ to the airport, lads," Paul informed, gripping his carry on around his shoulder. “Are you all ready to head out, and go home?"

_Were_ they ready to go home? Back in London Zayn had Perrie, who he had been _strategically_ choosing to not think about for the past hour - which hadn’t been all that difficult as he learned more about Harry’s surprising skills he could do with his mouth. However, all at once, all of the reasons he had been so uncomfortable the whole week came flooding back to him. Reaching over the arm of the sofa, he grabbed at his black leather backpack, jaw set in place.

"I’m quite tired. I’m going to pass out on the plane," Liam yawned making his way out of the door. Zayn walked around the sofa to see Harry waiting for him by the door. When their eyes met Harry smiled his famous smile, dimples prominent, and Zayn’s heart fluttered the way it always did when Harry found an indirect way to make him feel special. Even for a fleeting moment. 

"You all right, Zayn?" Harry questioned as he got closer to the doorway. He grazed the tips of his fingers against Zayn’s and briefly gripped his hand, ran his thumb back and forth, and gave it a caring squeeze before he let go. Harry’s animated eyes sparkled the way they always did when he was sincerely tickled about something and it only _just_ occurred to Zayn that they were sparkling for _him_. Harry’s experience with _him_ had him gleaming, and something about that struck Zayn in a way he couldn’t express with words. Haz looked positively effervescent and….. _adorable_.

"Yeah, Haz," Zayn genuinely smiled. He wasn’t sure how or when, because he felt that it was going to require a lot of patience and searching within himself, but _really_ felt it could all work out. Harry made him feel this way for a reason - and Zayn knew he shouldn’t ignore it. He lightly pushed Harry out the door to start to head with the others to the van, and clapped an arm around his broad shoulders,"I’m alright."

And he was.


End file.
